Solace
by NellieRai
Summary: Spoilers for 7x14 and 7x15! (Tag for the ending) And she's collapsing into him before he can even whisper her name. He doesn't have to think. His arms know what to do, he knows how to hold her. Maybe he grips her just a little too tight...


**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**A/N: SPOILERS FOR BOTH HALVES OF THE TWO PARTER. Okay with that out of the way, I challenged myself to write this. I normally don't really write episode tags. Not anymore because I feel like so many others can write it way better than I can so why bother BUT I basically made myself suck it up and type. This was written on my iphone so there's probably typos somewhere in it. I've read it three times but I tend to be blind to my own mistakes. **

**The play with past and present tense is intentional. I am nervous about it. I'm actually just a wreck over this whole fic. **

**That being said...hope you enjoy ;) **

After everything that happened neither expected much sleep. They left the lamp on just because they needed a little bright in the dark. Maybe also because they were trying to stay awake. They hadn't won that battle. Emotional and physical exhaustion had them both beat.

But now...it's playing tricks.

The light isn't helping but Castle isn't aware at first. Of his wife struggling next to him or anything happening in this reality. He doesn't notice her tossing, doesn't feel when she rolls to the very edge of the mattress. He's still lost in his tangled dreams of Tyson, of watching a woman he thought was Beckett be killed right in front of him. How that felt. Like his world had ended, his entire life gone. He's restless, his brain torturing but he stills the moment he hears it. His ears aware of her before the rest of him. A whimper. _Hers_.

His wife.

It takes him a moment to fight free of his own demons, to wake himself and force his eyes to open. To push the fog of sleep away and shake himself back to reality. This is real. She's asleep next to him because he found her. She's alive. It settles in his chest, wraps his heart in warmth. But then she shifts. Her body jerking and he's up. He's fully awake the moment her arm shoots out wildly and a cry rips from her throat. The warmth replaced with ice and he wishes she'd never rolled away from him.

He's already reaching for her, not caring when she turns away as he tries to touch her cheek. Stained with tears. And how long has she been trapped there? How long has she been fighting against something in her own mind?

"Beckett." He chooses to touch her shoulder this time, hoping it's neutral territory and she seizes up as if he's the one trying to hurt her. "Beckett, it's not real. Come on, open your eyes. Look at me."

His heart shatters all over again, for what feels like the millionth time in all of this. Because it was real. He doesn't know all of what happened to her. He'd been too caught up in the fact that she was physically okay, in her being alive that he hadn't paid any attention to the statement she gave. He wishes he would have but he knows her, knows she kept it strong, knows she didn't tell them everything.

The moment she bolts up, a silent scream locked in her throat with her eyes wide and panicked, he breaks. He feels the adrenaline and joy of finding her wear down and he's left stripped just as raw as she is when her hand covers her lips and her eyes lock on his. He tries to comfort, needs to have that connection but he's cautious. He rubs her arm first and waits. She looks so terrified, so wild and it reminds him too much of finding her with her hands drenched in blood and a scalpel dangling.

He'd been cautious then too. Until she had leaned into him and that's what he waits for now. A sign that she's out of the nightmare and with him. In their home. Safe. In their bed. He doesn't breathe, couldn't if he wanted to. The knot in his throat prevents it but she's warm. She's warm and solid and real.

And she's collapsing into him before he can even whisper her name. He doesn't have to think. His arms know what to do, he knows how to hold her. Maybe he grips her just a little too tight, maybe he presses against the back of her head to keep her in place but all he's aware of? The trembling of her body and the tears he can feel dampening his skin, his shirt. And his own, refusing to be pushed down anymore.

He wasn't exaggerating when he said it nearly killed him. Not knowing where she was, not knowing what they had done to her or were doing to her. It had ripped him to pieces. Shredded him until he felt as though someone had taken his soul, his very being, and tore it apart slowly. He'd felt every tug, every tiny slice. And it still burns. It burns and twists inside, spills out in hot angry tears until he's not sure who is holding whom.

Castle clings because he has to, so does she. At some point his back meets the headboard and she curls further into him. Her hands fist in his shirt, and he feels her agony as if it's his own. Because it is. Two halves of the same whole will always feel the same pain. And this is a deep wound. New and fresh. One that's still red, raw, and bleeding.

He buries his face in her hair, needing more. Needing the comfort it gives him. The scent of her welcome and enough, he lets out a heavy breath.

She hadn't cried. Not since they found her and now it's coming out in sobs that shake her and he can't do anything but stroke her back and twine his fingers through her soft locks until she calms.

"Kate," Her name and he finally finds his voice. He finally swallows down the lump and rests his lips against the shell of her ear. "I've got you. I've got you, Kate."

It seems to help. Or maybe he just pretends it does. But he keeps talking, whispering nonsense until the trembling lessens and her breathing becomes a little steadier. His heart physically aches, like a fist squeezing until he's dizzy and fighting for his own breath. He wants to take it all away, everything she went through. Not just the last two days. But also those months he was missing. He wants all of it gone but it won't be. It never will be because he doesn't have that power. He can't make it miraculously all better and that hurts too.

There's a moment she rubs her cheek against his shoulder, his name stuttered out and broken and he forgets his own torment to pull her impossibly closer.

"M'okay." Her lips drag over his neck and then she's raising her head.

He's never prepared to see her face wet, or her eyes so red. Or how his whole body tightens when she lifts a warm palm to press to his cheek. And he chokes on air because even now, even after everything that's happened and how they both let it catch up to them, she's so beautiful and she's his. She's not going anywhere alone ever again.

Maybe that's not exactly feasible. But that's how he feels. Is that how she felt after two months without him? He almost asks, almost but he doesn't get the chance because she's speaking.

"I was back in that room. With her." He didn't ask but she's telling him anyway. Her words still weighted down by the emotion she just poured out. "I couldn't get...couldn't get free this time."

He knows enough to know the rest.

"You got out. You beat her, Kate." He doesn't miss her flinch. Doesn't miss the cold creep into her gaze.

"I killed her." There's no remorse in her tone but he's sure it bothers her.

"You didn't have a choice."

"I know." But that's the thing. She does know and she still feels it. She feels everything because she isn't like Tyson or Neiman. "I can still feel her blood on my skin but then I go to sleep and she still has the scalpel and it's my blood."

He doesn't know what to say to that. There are no words. So he does the only thing he can. He rubs his thumb over the smooth column of her neck and urges her closer until her lips find his. Soft and a safety that lingers. The tight band around his heart eases the moment he feels her relax.

She stays, forehead against his as she turns to straddle him. And that's where she stays. With her nose nudging and her breath hot on his mouth. Proof that she's alive. Because he's struggling with his own delusions and nightmares and this is enough to reassure him, to assuage his fears. It's enough for now.

His eyes are open and all he sees are hers. Everything he touches is her. Her back, her neck with her pulse beating steady. Her chest to his and he swears her heart is thumping the same rhythm as his own but maybe that's just another fib to comfort himself.

"She wanted my face." She says it with a disgust he feels. He knew already but she's talking and she's not shaking now so he listens. "I wasn't going to die in that room. I wasn't going to let her kill me or let Tyson use that to destroy you."

And this is why he loves her. This is why he swells with pride. She's strong. But more than that, he now gets to see her vulnerability. And in the time they've had together, the first few of many years, he's learned that makes her even stronger.

They lend each other that strength. When she needs it, he's the one she turns to. And when his nightmares plague him, she'll return the favor. No questions, no expectations. Just the solidity of their relationship, their marriage.

He holds her when she needs it. He's holding her now. She's holding him right back. And he's not letting go. Not anytime soon. He keeps his fingers soothing up and down her spine, he keeps kissing her soft and slow and easy. He needs it just as much as she does. And she's so tired, he can feel it but he doesn't suggest going back to sleep. Not when she's still shaking off a nightmare that had her wild eyed.

She stays on him. And when she mentions something about the tips of her fingers aching, he's gripping her wrist and bringing them up to his lips. She's smart and brave. So many things. But at the moment she's relaxed and giving him the barest of smiles.

She keeps herself awake for quite awhile and he lets her. He's not too keen on going back to sleep either. They talk more. About what happened, about how they'll move forward from here. Trading touch and gentle kisses.

Her face is pressed into him, head on his shoulder when he realizes she's fallen back asleep. Calm. Her breaths steady and her body still. He could move her off his lap, stretch her out against his side but he doesn't. He keeps her where she is and knows if she gets too uncomfortable with her knees on either side of his hips, she'll move herself. He's not ready to let go yet so he doesn't.

And there's not a thing in the world that could make him.


End file.
